Expeditious Eulogium
by Momosportif
Summary: An appex of my nerdiness,a vocabulary word-inspired Link ficlet. I wanted to write something to fling in the faces of all the Link haters aka write something where he's kind of more like a 19 year old human but I couldn't do it without weirding it up. :


Uh heh heh heh heh... I predict that everyone will hate me for this story... I'm reading The Scarlet Letter in English class (a Dark Romantic novel by Nathanial Hawthorne about Puritans and siiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiin) and, because it's a Romantic novel, it has lots of heavy duty language and vocabulary and it reminded me of Link. So I threatened Momo S I'd write a Link story with as much vocabulary from the novel as possible... so here it is in all it's hard core English glory. So heed Link's opening and don't read it if it's too much work! It's just an outlet of my nerdiness! To those brave enough to read, thahnk you (omake Lavi thank you) and good luck!

Oh, and HOW THE HECK DO YOU SPELL THE INSPECTOR'S NAME!? I spent half an hour looking all over... I used wiki's version... heeeeeelp!

Expeditious Eulogium

There is no sob story here, no greatly emotional tale of childhood trauma to evoke pity or provide convenient alibis, and nor is there any laudable display of composition or artistry, no mark of the muse's gifts to soothe or make palatable the writing. I warn the reader now, being none too fond of wasted effort myself, and certainly wishing to discourage any vivified minds to mull the uneventful content I'm presenting only to build resentment towards myself, the author, and my story, the text soon to follow.

I have, upon the insistence of a fellow at its necessary creation, compiled my past as I know it to be, in the least prolix fashion my ability permits, and, upon rereading the piece, found it quite unspectacular in regard to craft and content. Regardless, the facts are present in their most unadulterated form for all eyes to behold and a few pairs to judge accordingly. Here I shall cease to expatiate and relate the promised events with, I hope, an accuracy that glorifies and besmirches my person with propriety.

I was born in Bremen, December 29th , exactly nineteen years and nineteen days ago today. I perhaps am unique in the fact that my parents were both in moderately eminent positions in Central at the time of my birth, a rarity among those involved with the Black Order, the one unorthodoxy of which my parents can ever be accused.

They were both blond, both blue-eyed, both respectable, upright Northerners with extensive incumbencies to boast.

As early as two years of age saw me in the innermost Central offices, silent, well-dressed, appropriately appreciative of attention. No months were dispensed with idly, at a tutor's side or my parents' I was perpetually gleaning the information that would buy me desks sagacious autumnals could not occupy for many years more. My exact earliest memory is from my fourth birthday, the last day I cried, a record maintained until this present day with no foreseeable breach. The recollection commences with the news that the evening would be spent in the office and culminates with a stiff smack on the arm fro crying quietly in the carriage. I had grown weary of the fastidious locale and would quite rather have retired for the night, but such sentiments were not suitable to display when I was fullly aware that my parents' work was second only to the exorcists' in protecting mankind.

So passed my childhood.

A careful construction of credentials and capabilities that would make my name and nation proud. A few relatives passed away, but contact had been so long abridged that the three in my household felt no obligation to attend any funerals. An interview and consequential appointment at twelve as a minor secretary followed by a request from the Crow at thirteen were enough to abate my parents' trepidations. Here, with scarcely a decade behind me, I had succeeded in life to my fullest abilities according to my elders.

At sixteen I began to see past their happy illusion and realized my life was very void. The pith of existence was no longer extant but evanescent, perhaps gone permanently. I had no friends, I trusted only the highest of my higher ups, I didn't taste food, I had a family that would disown me if I came home (providing they were there to receive me), and I hadn't laughed for ten years or more. I couldn't even smile. And I had no one to tell, no one alive, plenty of names in my head to inform. I went insane for roughly five minutes trying to figure out what was austere nature of my upbringing had not barred compassion from my parents' handling of me, the years of study had surely been severe but not excessively so, and there were co-workers enough to socialize with, I had never wanted for company, so what facet of life begat discontent?

My panic was quenched by the affirmation that the flaw was internal and rested solely in my outlook; I had allowed myself to become disenchanted. Here I took up pastry making and soon after my work led me to my position under the Inspector, M.C. Levellier.

My work preceeding this allotment, my days with the Crow alone, are, perhaps surprisingly, not confidential, but can be summarized in the statement that every order I was given was obeyed with my fullest efforts. This includes murder, torture, and coercion. Whatever effects such ignominious deeds have wrought on my morals and conscious, I live in ignorance of them under the conviction that all I have done was with the sanction of Central. That is to say that my prerogative was not considered, not to say that I condone my actions, and in this I seek but do not demand justification.

Under the Inspector my more morbid missions decreased in number near the point of extinction, and I was able to develop my secretarial skills with immense success. This I credit to the deep mutual comprehension shared between myself and my superior, effecting a closer bond than I had ever experienced betwixt myself and a commander prior to our encounter. A bond of business-like companionship though not friendship to be certain. My premier acquaintance in that respect arrives just now in my tale, my charge, Allen Walker, the only person I have ever established an amicable tie to.

It is evident to any observer that Walker and I are only just what I claim us to be so I offer this explanation as to why we are friends at all: he is too amiable to avoid befriending during any extended interaction.

He himself has told me in jest what I am assured is true, that I have no capacity for forging bonds of earnest companionship. This realization distressed me in no less measure than my previous self-discovery, but this issue, I found stemmed not from my perspective but a widespread hatred directed towards the thorn I am in the Order's side, the thorn Central is. I have yet to divulge this belief to any of my potential confidants because I simply cannot.

On the one side I'd be a traitor, on the other a pathetic attempt to break an unbreachable field of animosity.

There are no iniquities in the state of things, I am what I am and have done what I know to be right for as long as I've been capable. All the same, I am alone.

My instinct reminds me of bloodshed, dull eyes, frightened eyes, silence that should not have been.

My will instructs me to follow the sound sense the Inspector prides me for, the Crow enlisted me for, my parents fed me until I left our house, I've witnessed since the age of two and adhered to ever since.

I can ignore hatred.

But the conclusion of my story is unavoidable, I must confront it soon. Despite all odds, I am in love. I am more moved than I have been for the better part of my life and I am hated, denied by adversity the better things in life I've yet to know.

I learned to laugh again. I _can_ smile.

In this arena though, a cross is unattainable for a standard issue suit and academy haircut whether or not anything rests beneath. And in this manner, the point is mute.

My apologies to those readers I have rankled and to those whose inviolable minds found my composition offensive. To the remaining, I entreat you to forget your aversion to my, until recently, esoteric character and pray that I have not inadvertently bedizened my personal history.

(Already, however, I must amend a claim in the interest of accuracy. A carriage ride has been reluctantly revisited).

If any one thinks it would be worth it for me to define my vocab words on the fic, please tell and I shall comply! Thanks oodles for reading!


End file.
